Steam filled the bathroom. I didn’t want to put my old clothes back on, so with the towel wrapped around me, I opened the door an inch and put my face to the gap.
“Look away, Vail,” I shouted in case he was out there. “I’m coming out.”
There was no answer, so I gathered my clothes under my arm and swung the door open. I stepped into the hall, turning toward my room.
I stopped.
On the dusty floor were fresh, wet footprints, leading away down the hall. They were the size of the feet of a six-year-old child.
—
Vail lay all the way down on the floor of the hall, pressing his cheek to the scuffed hardwood. He looked like he was taking a nap. He stared long and hard at the footprints, careful not to touch one.
“We should photograph this,” he said at last. “I brought my work camera.”
I’d found him downstairs, fussing with the TV, which had stoppedworking again. Now he squinted at the footprints, angling to see them under the light. There had never been a question of not believing me.
“If you want to do it, then do it quickly,” I said, squeezing the collar of the bathrobe I’d put on. “They’ll dry.”
“Get a lamp.”
He got up, and we gingerly stepped over the footprints as I unplugged a lamp in a nearby room and he got his camera from his bedroom.
Was I frightened? I supposed I was. What I mostly felt, though, was vindication. Even without the account from the landscapers, I’d felt Ben’s presence in this house. It could have been wishful thinking or the power of the bad memories this place held. The footprints told me I wasn’t as crazy as I thought I was.
“They’re drying fast,” Vail said, winding the film in his camera and attaching the flash. “No time to set up a tripod. Let’s do it quick.”
I plugged the lamp into a nearby outlet, took the shade off, and turned it on. I held it above the footprints. I’d done enough modeling shoots to know what a fill light was. This was rough, but it would have to do.
Vail squatted, bracing himself with the easy balance of an athlete, and took one photo, then another. The flash popped loudly and the bright light glistened on the fading footprints.
“Did you hear anything?” my brother asked, stepping forward and winding the film again. I followed with the lamp.
“Nothing. I was in the shower.”
“What were you doing in there?”
“I beg your pardon. What do you think I was doing in the shower?”
He sighed, a deep, put-upon sound. “Were you talking to yourself? Saying anything?” he clarified. “Singing? Crying?”
He said it so matter-of-factly I couldn’t speak for a second, wondering if he knew about the crying I’d done in that bathtub. Thenwondering if he’d done the same thing. “No,” I managed. “None of those things.”
“Did the lights flicker? The water?”
“No.”
“Did you see any bright lights?”
“No.”
“Did you feel any temperature changes?”
I was being interrogated like one of his UFO people. Well, that was fair. “No.”
“I didn’t notice anything, either. You can see the toe prints. You can see which way he was going.”
Ben’s round little toe prints, right there on the floor. I wished Violet had been here to see it. “What do you think it means?” I asked.
